


and straight on till morning

by Nicitia



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Peter Pan References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-24 00:43:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2561786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicitia/pseuds/Nicitia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meryl Davis and Charlie White discover that to live is an awfully big adventure. On life, love, and growing up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and straight on till morning

**Author's Note:**

> I originally meant to write a Peter Pan AU, but now it's more of an extended metaphor. All quotes are from Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie, except for the last one which is from the movie Hook. Much thanks to Penny for not blocking me as I essentially chain-messaged her the rough draft.

 

“Two is the beginning of the end.”

There was a time, a few precious short years, where skating was mostly for fun, and it’s these years Meryl counts as her childhood. She did a few competitions here and there, but more for the love of skating than the love of competing. She had been a shy girl, not completely comfortable with competing, with all the attention on her, with no one to rely on.

And then one day Seth had asked her to skate with a boy she had seen across the rink for years. She’d never spoken to him, but she put her hand in his, and it’s that day that her childhood began to come to an end.

All children grow up, and some start earlier than others. Meryl Davis starts growing up the day she meets Charlie White.

(But what does it mean, to truly become an adult? Self-sufficiency? Paying bills? Starting a family? Do you become an adult when you accomplish the goal you’ve worked towards for seventeen years, or sometime before then? Is it simply the age of majority? Perhaps it’s when you leave the world you have always known for a different world, one for which you’ve always longed. In that case, the day Charlie White meets Meryl Davis is the day he stops growing up for good.)

 

 “On these magic shores children at play are forever beaching their coracles.”

Her hair turns gray and her back stoops with age, but there are things she never forgets. She remembers the first time she stepped on the ice. She remembers crying in frustration because she couldn’t read the words in front of her, remembers all the specialists she had to see. And she remembers Charlie, most of all.

These are things she remembers: Him grumbling about skating with someone who was below him in level. The first time they hugged, after their first competition. Sitting politely in the audience as she watched his violin recitals. Perhaps most of all, the look on Charlie’s face the first time he dropped her, panic and guilt and worry, him rushing to her side even though she’s already getting to her feet, helping her up the rest of the way as if she were made of porcelain.

She hadn’t known at the time, but she thinks that was the moment that gave them no choice but to be together. She had committed to him, irrevocably, in that moment; cleaved to him as her partner. She had decided she wanted to skate with him and him alone.

There is one thing she does not remember: Despite remembering times before she knew Charlie, she cannot remember ever not loving him.

(They were so young when they decided to belong to each other, their roots forever tangled even as they aged and had to grow apart, and so maybe they never truly grew up.)

  
“For to have faith, is to have wings.”

They say they spent three years working on the Scheherazade lift, and it’s true, but it’s also true that they spent their entire lives working on it. When she flies through the air and onto his shoulders, she is not just supported by him, but by 17 years of respect and love and absolute trust.

(They ask her if she was ever afraid and she says no, that she always trusted him. What she doesn’t say is _How could I be afraid, I am home_ , because she feels safer in his arms than standing on the ground sometimes, because the ground may crumble and break but she knows he would _die_ before he failed her. )

He broke his ankle once, and they had to sit out part of the season. He had sat there, miserable and guilty, and he had started to stutter out a promise to her, _I’m so sorry, Meryl, I swear-_ and she had stopped him and whispered _I know_. And nothing more was said, because nothing needed to be.

(And maybe that’s where some of their problems arose, that perfect understanding. Perhaps they spent so long never needing to speak to each other that when they did need to talk they simply didn’t know _how_.)

But that is later, and for now he grabs ahold of her arms and swings her into the air, and in the moments before she lands on his shoulders she would swear she was flying.

(That is how you fly. Find something you have unshakeable faith in, take a leap and _soar_ ).

 

“Just always be waiting for me.”

When she is 21, she can no longer ignore what they are to each other. Because 2008 brings that disastrous competition in Moscow, and their lines of their relationship, so carefully maintained, finally blur. It’s not perfect, but it almost feels perfect, because they’re young and foolish and in love, and _just_ for this moment they’re letting themselves be who they want to be.

(When does a girl become a woman? When she turns 18? When she lets herself love? When she gives up love? When she leaves it all behind?)

And she may not be grown up, though she’s legally an adult, but, in that moment, she’s old enough to know that it’s always been Charlie White, ever since she was nine years old, and it always would be him. When she was a child, she had let herself belong to him without thinking, and she had never been able to get all of herself back. She might be too old for fairy tales, but the part of her that belonged to him would never grow out of believing.

(And perhaps growing up means letting go of childish fantasies, but then again, perhaps it doesn’t. She now knows something she was too young to understand then. What’s meant to be will always find a way in the end.)

 

“After you have been unfair to him he will love you again, but he will never afterwards be quite the same boy.”

After Moscow, things are different. They had always lived with-and ignored- an awareness of what they could be, but the pull is stronger, more insistent, now that they’ve tasted it. But they’re also more aware of how easily things could be ruined. They could break each other, easily. They almost do.

(Because you can never truly hate someone until you have loved them first.)

They never tell anyone, but when they get home from Moscow they have a blowout fight, with anger and tears and blame. Spitting and furious, the tipping point comes when she, refusing to give into tears, hisses out _You could have ruined everything_.  His eyes widen in shock and hurt, because it was both of them that made that mistake and she knows it. She feels all the fight go out of her, slumping on the spot, watching as he nearly explodes in indignation before he deflates as well.

 _It was both of us_ , he says quietly, and she nods, because it’s true. _We need to move past this_ , he says and she nods again. _It can’t happen again_ he says, and she keeps nodding, as if she doesn’t have control over herself anymore, as if all she can do is affirm that he’s right.

 _Maybe I should go_ she manages to say, and this time he nods. _Maybe you should_ , he says, so she walks out. Before she can close the door however, she watches out of the corner of her eye as he drops his head into his hands. She can hear him whisper _You’ve ruined me_. And even though he can’t see her, she nods again, without thinking.

(Because it’s true.)

“You can have anything in life if you will sacrifice everything else for it.”

At 26 and 27 they win golden medals for golden dreams. Standing on that podium with his hand clasped to hers she feels like she’s nine years old again, happy and carefree and heart bursting with light.

But as her victory begins sink in, she is older again, still happy but no longer carefree.  How could she be, with the burden of all she’s given up weighing on her? Sometimes she looks at her brother and wonders if he didn’t have the right of it, graduating on time and being normal and living life, and he may be three years younger but she feels like she’s the younger one.

 _All this was worth it_ she tells herself, but if it was, would she need reassurance? It no longer really matters. What’s done is done, she decided what was the most important long ago and now she has it.

And if sometimes she looks at Charlie a little too long and wonders if she gave up a little too much, well, no one knows but her.

(And maybe that is part of growing up, knowing what not to sacrifice. But it didn’t matter much anymore; once you have given up a first chance at something there’s no getting it back.)

 

“Stars are beautiful, but they may not take part in anything, they must just look on forever.”

For several months after Sochi, life is a whirlwind of interviews and shows and publicity. She wins _Dancing With the Stars_ and gives talks, and life is like a dream. She has much to look forward to--finishing her degree, living in Italy, teaching Anthropology. But then she and Charlie officially retire, and nothing is the same. When they do shows she thinks _We could still do this_. She has to check her jealousy when she sees Madison and Evan or Alex and Maia win medals; sometimes she drives to the rink just to stare at the skaters who fly across the ice like they’re in a dream.

(This is what it means to reach the top. There is only down to go.)

She could stay in this world forever. She could do shows until she can’t and choreograph and coach, she could do it with Charlie and Tanith, always staying and reliving her glory days.

Or she could move on.

(When does a girl become a woman?)

 

“I taught you to fight and to fly. What more could there be?”

He doesn’t understand. They’ve spent their whole lives here; he doesn’t understand why she would want to leave it all behind. _That’s why I want to leave, to experience new things_ she says. He doesn’t listen.  At first he says, _Well it’s only for a year_ , and then grows irritated when she shrugs. They don’t fight like they did after Moscow, with raised voices and tears and open words. Instead, they fight with sharp, pointed words that burrow under the skin and pierce the heart, little cutting remarks. They spend days with tension brewing between them until it’s the day before she’s leaving, and he’s helping her pack both out of love and a desire to win, to make her stay. They trade barbs back and forth, until he finally breaks, always the more open of the two of them, and bursts out with _Why are you leaving_ me?

(Because that was always the point. Leaving skating meant leaving _Davis and White_ ; it had to mean leaving him behind as well.)

She sits there, stunned, as this slowly sinks in, and she begins to get truly angry. _How can you say that, after everything_ she says, almost in tears, and he is immediately contrite, guilt washing over him.

They sit there in silence for awhile, until she finally murmurs _I hope you understand someday_.  _I hope I do too_ , he says. He doesn’t say _I hope you come back to me_.

She reaches for him then, and he pulls her to him, and they hold each other like it’s the last time they’ll ever get to do this. _I’m sorr_ y, he whispers, his breath stirring her hair and his arms still tightly wound around her. _I’m sorry too_ , she says, because he’s not the only one with regrets.

He pulls back a little then, so he can look her in the eyes. _Forgive me_? And he meant it to come out lighter, but he sounds hopelessly young and lost and pleading. She reaches out and touches her hand to his cheek.

 _Always_ , she says. (She promises.)

They don’t know how long they sit there, holding each other like that, but when he finally lets her go it feels like the end.

(Despite everything, he had never imagined a future without her in it. Even now, as she walks away from him, he can’t do it.)

 

“Never say goodbye because goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting.”

They bid farewell at the airport the next day, each still stinging from the day before. There is a brief moment where he almost begs her to stay and she almost begs him not to let her go. He doesn’t, and she doesn’t, and there’s a strange sort of finality to her departure, almost like they’ll never see each other again.

(They will, but they will no longer be the same. They had grown together, bound so tightly that it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began.  Being apart was so alien to them that they could do nothing but change in the absence of the other.)

She boards the plane. He watches her leave. Nothing will be the same. He will go home to where he grew up and he will skate at the same rink and he will love the same woman but nothing will be the same, because there is no longer a fixed point to anchor him. The thought is so unbearably lonely that he almost cries on the way back from the airport.

(He does not. When you are a child you can cry for anything and everything, but when you are older you must pick your battles. He is learning this.)

Over time, he gets used to her absence. Over time, she begins to fade in his mind until he can no longer clearly picture the exact color of her eyes or the shape of her smile. It bothers him more than perhaps it should, but otherwise things progress as they ought to. She had flown off to chase her dreams. He coaches and plays with his dogs and gets married. Life goes on.

 

“You need not be sorry for her. She was one of the kind that likes to grow up.”

She misses everything, at first. She misses the ice, misses her parents, misses _him_. But she’s finally graduated and now she’s studying abroad in Italy for grad school and it’s exhilarating and terrifying and strange, that people look at her and just see Meryl Davis, without _and Charlie White_ following immediately, like it has since she was nine. She’s lived by herself for years, but only now does she feel truly alone, in a country where only a handful know her name, and sometimes it’s lonely and sometimes it’s thrilling, but mostly it just is.

She does wonder, sometimes, what would have happened if she had done what so many before had done. Skated in shows until she couldn’t, and then coached, always just a step away from her glory days. She’d have been happy and comfortable, she thinks. It wouldn’t be a bad life. She could still do it, too, and coaching holds some appeal for her, helping shy 8 and 9 year olds look each other in the eye for the first time. It’s the obvious choice,  but even though some part of her longs for comfort, she fears stagnation, fears that she only wants skating because she’s never known anything else.

( _And maybe she only wants Charlie because she’s never known anything else_ part of her goes, secretly. She hopes it’s true and wishes that it isn’t all it once.)

You can’t have everything in life, and she’s learnt that part of being grown up is that you have to make choices.

 

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder… or forgetful.”

They begin to forget. A person can only live on memories for so long before they need something else to sustain them. And while 17 years of memories last a long time, they’re both ready for new things. They can’t forget each other completely--they’re bound too tightly for that-- but she no longer expects his name to come after hers and her name isn’t the first thing on his mind every time he steps onto the ice.

He gets married. She dates, first casually, and then seriously. They stay in touch, but drift towards the outer edges of each others spheres, always there but no longer on the forefront of their minds.

But sometimes she spies a head of curly blond hair and she feels a rush of emotion so intense she nearly stumbles, nearly calls out for him despite _knowing_ that it’s someone else. Sometimes when he’s coaching he imagines her laughing beside him, giving instructions, and he misses her so badly he feels like he can’t breathe, like his worst asthma attack, but his inhaler can’t help him.

She looks at her boyfriend, all dark hair and eyes, and sees someone else, and she knows it’s over. She remembers a younger Charlie, heartbroken and accusing, whispering _You’ve ruined me_. She thinks that he was wrong, that he’s the one who ruined her for anyone else.

(They’re both right. They ruined each other. Love does that sometimes.)

The pain always fades. She breaks up with her boyfriend and dates casually again, but without much enthusiasm, until one day she stops entirely. She’s not sure she even needs it in her life, because her life is so full, right now, even without him, and she thinks she can forget everything. One day she looks at his photo and there’s no pain, just a sort of fondness, and she wonders if she’s finally stopped loving him.

(But the thing about love is that you can’t stop once you’ve started. Once you have loved deeply enough, it never truly goes away. It may turn into hate or wither away enough that you think that it’s gone, but love leaves an imprint on your heart. Even years later, you will look at someone and think _I loved you once_ and you will remember, even fleetingly, how it felt to love them more than anything.)

And one day she gets a text-- _I’m coming to see you_ \--and she knows that from the moment she met him she could do nothing for the rest of her life but love him forever.

(“Forever is an awfully long time” some might say, and it is, but so is 17 years.)

 

“Time is chasing after all of us.”

Life sets in, and there simply isn’t enough time for everything. He’d felt so young when he was 26, like he still had all of his life in front of him. And he did, truly. But suddenly five years have passed and he lives in the same house with his wife--his lovely, amazing, _wonderful_ wife--and he hasn’t even finished his degree, too caught up with coaching and choreographing and everything else. He’d always wanted to be a lawyer, to help people, but that dream drifts further and further out of reach until he can no longer see it.

It’s not just him. Tanith feels stagnant too; she has always wanted to break into broadcasting, to live in L.A. where she belongs, to do more than just figure skating commentary. But instead she’d stayed here, with him, _for_ him, even though she hadn’t truly wanted to.

But he’s realizing that maybe he hadn’t truly wanted to either.

(When does a boy become a man?)

They part on good terms, because he really had loved her, and she had him, and despite the fact it hadn’t worked out, they really had been good for each other. She goes off to pursue her dreams, and he means to do the same, but he’s not sure what his dreams are anymore. He considers law school, but it seems exhausting, trying to fit into childhood dreams he’s outgrown.

Instead, he spends another year in Michigan, coaching and trying to figure out _what he wants_. And then one day, he sees a pair of children across the rink, tentatively learning the proper ice dance holds. In reality the girl has bright red hair and the boy has black hair, but all he sees is a little blonde girl and a short boy with brown hair, and the world closes in around him, and all he thinks is _Meryl_.

He thinks he had always known, since he was 8 and she was 9, where he was meant to be.

 The next day he leaves for the airport, a few necessities hastily shoved into his duffle bag, because even if he doesn’t know exactly what he wants to do for the rest of his life, he knows who he wants to be with, because throughout everything, Meryl’s always been the fixed point he returns to.

(It’s never too late to leave Neverland.)

 

“All of this has happened before, and it will all happen again.”

Their reunion is not exactly a reunion, as they never lost touch, just grew apart. He is exhausted and yawns all the way up to her door, and she is pretending not to wait for him like she has been ever since she got his text. There is a moment, just as he knocks, before she opens the door, where fear sets in. He worries for a moment that he’s too old for fairy tales, that he hasn’t thought this through. He stands there for what feels a ludicrously long time with his fist in the air, trying to make a choice. They could forget all this, let themselves continue drifting in out of each others lives, he could laugh off his flight of fancy and she could forget how she felt when she looked at her phone the night before. They’d given all this up years before, it seems strange to try it now.

(Because once you have given up a first chance at something, there’s no getting it back. But the thing about first chances is that you can generally find a _second_ chance, if you have the courage to look for it.)

So he knocks at her door and she opens it, and it’s not like no time has passed, but more as if they’ve gone back in time, because in the space before they hold each other there is seventeen years of love and missed chances between them.  He laces both arms around her, his hands still tracing the outlines of her shoulder blades from memory, and she twines her arms around his neck and it is then they realize how silly they’ve been, letting each other slip away, thinking they could put away the past. Because the past is the pillar of the present, and some things never change.

(Love is everlasting.)

 

“We too have been there; we can still hear the sound of the surf, though we shall land no more.”

They grow back together. They don’t know each other by heart anymore, and they are occasionally surprised by new habits and all the differences that a few years can make. But they have the rest of their lives to relearn each other, and they plan to.

(Sometimes people ask when they’re getting married, and they look at each other and shrug. They don’t know how to explain that it’s simply _unnecessary_ for them, because whether or not they’re legally bound to each other, they’re bound in spirit. They never needed an excuse to belong to each other.)

Sometimes they go back to Michigan to see their families. Sometimes they return to the ice to do shows, or a short skating camp. It was never the skating that was the problem, after all, only that it seemed the only choice.

(And there’s no harm in reliving your past glory days so long as you remember to live in the present.)

They watch other skaters, elite skaters heading to the Olympics; they watch small children holding hands for the first time and think _That was us, once_.

 _Maybe we should coach, someday, after we’ve done everything else_ , she says. He smiles. _Maybe we should._

(You can never go back to who you were, but as she likes to say, it’s never too late to be who you might have been.)

 

“To die will be an awfully big adventure.”

It was only to be expected that after a lifetime together that one of them finally passed away. They are old and slow now, and no matter how much Charlie makes her feel eternally 9 and 18 and 27 all at once, her body finally shuts down. There are no tearful goodbyes between them, for what was there to be said that they hadn’t already? Meryl merely whispers out one last _I love you_ and then she is gone.

In the end, they leave the world the same way they entered it, her first and him second, but instead of waiting ten months he makes it only ten days despite being in good health for his age.

(Perhaps they had been together so long he simply did not know how to live in a world emptied of her.)

At the last, he does not see himself alone in their bedroom. Instead, he sees long dark hair, and an outstretched hand he was always meant to hold, and at last he knows to never let go.

 

 “You know that place between sleep and awake, that place where you still remember dreaming? That’s where I’ll always love you. That’s where I’ll be waiting.”

 

 


End file.
